


Breakfast in Bed

by orphan_account



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alzheimer's Disease, Angst, Breakfast, Connor POV, Distant future, Hank Anderson & Connor Parent-Child Relationship, Hank POV, Hurt No Comfort, Mentioned Cole Anderson, Parent-Child Relationship, Post-Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), author has lack of understanding of alzheimer's and profusely apologizes, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 20:39:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15781701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: For the first time , Hank is served breakfast in bed by a loving son. Of course, every time is 'the first time' if you never remember it happening.





	Breakfast in Bed

Hank wakes up, feeling the weight of exhaustion as he opens his eyes and adjusts to his surroundings. He blinks a few times and sighs as he sinks further into the softness of the bed he's currently resting on, eager to go back to a peaceful slumber. He's about to when a hand reaches out and gently pats him on the shoulder, slightly jostling him.

“Hrrngh?” He snorts as he's woken up and brought into the reality, away from the sleep he was ready to fall back into. “Whadda fuck is happeniー” he tries to sit up to get into a more aware state of being, but as he positions his arms to the side of the bed, he fumbles and doesn't get very far. Utter exhaustion seeps once again into his bones, feeling as though he'd never been resting at all. All the more reason to fall back asleep, he supposes, seemingly dismissing the hand that had distracted him from doing so in the first place.

“It's time to wake up,” a voice says, once again reaching out to shake his shoulder. The hand seems insistent on keeping Hank awake, as it doesn't cease to bother him. “You've been asleep for 10 hours, 14 minutes, and 31 seconds. I've brought you some food, you must be hungry.” As the figure talks, the smell of warm, toasty honey bread paired with freshly ground coffee beans wafts through Hank's nose. Originally irritated, the homey, nostalgic feeling he got from the food the other brought successfully placates him.

In contrast to the fast-paced, stressful environment that came with being in charge of homicide cases, the relaxing atmosphere of his home mixed with the warm scent of food lulls him into a sense of tranquility. The figure beside him assists Hank into a sitting position, placing a pillow behind his back to support him upright. A wooden bed tray is placed on his lap, delicious food coming ever closer to him. How long had it been since he'd had breakfast in bed? 

He remembers the last father's day when Cole had woken up early and attempted to fix his dad a something special. Of course, being the clumsy kid he was, had ended up creating a huge mess in the kitchen when trying to mix ready-made pancake mix and milk together in a bowl too small. There was powder everywhere, and Hank had been glad he woke up before Cole decided to use the stove, but honestly, he couldn't be mad at the little angel. After all, it was the thought that counted… although he'd made sure to ascertain that Cole wouldn't try to cook without adult supervision again. He chuckles a bit at the thought, his mood lifting suddenly at the memory. But now…

“Cole, you silly kid,” Hank grumbles, reaching his hand out to the child beside him. “I thought I told ya not to touch the cookin’ stuff without me watching you.” He half-heartedly ruffles the kid's hair, not having the energy to do much more before dropping his hand back to his side. “But look at you, what's this? Looks half decent this time! I hope you didn't destroy the kitchen...” He huffs and chuckles, a scratchy sound coming out of his throat. 

“Cole?” Cole repeats his own name. “I'm… I'm not…” the boy seemed to give up halfway through his train of thought. “Yes, you're right. Do not fret, the kitchen remains spotless in cleanliness and is still in acceptable condition.” He sighs and shifts the tray closer towards Hank. “Please, it is time to eat your breakfast. I hope that it will be to your liking.”

That's odd. Cole's a 6 year old, when did he start using such sophisticated language? Hank turns his head toward the offender and squints. Cole was never this tall, when had this man situated himself beside him? 

“Who the hell are you?” Hank asks. The happy vibe he was feeling just moments earlier turns sour and an unsettling worm snakes it's way around his insides. “The fuck you do to my kid?” He's becoming more and more apprehensive by the second and the man by his bedside shifts uncomfortably. The look on the other's face morphs from a neutral expression to one of distraught, eyebrows pinching and lips pursing. The transition is smooth, yet unnatural in an odd sense. Eventually, it settles back into an evenhanded state, but the emotion behind his eyes still displays the distress the man was feeling. Suspicious.

“I… yes. My name is Connor,” he introduces himself. “I'm the android in your care. Can you tell me what is the last thing you remember?”

“Who the fuck? Connor?” Hank takes a second look around his bedroom. The unsettling feeling leaves, abruptly shifting to confusion. Everything seems in order, so where was this instinctual questioning coming from. “Where the hell is my kid? What are you doing here?”

“Cole is… Cole is…” Connor seems cautious, carefully selecting his words. A good idea, because Hank is getting impatient and slowly more irked at the confusion of the whole situation. “Cole is still resting. It's quite early. Here, eat your breakfast while you wait for him to wake up. It's Saturday, I'm sure he'd like to sleep in some more.” Connor beckons Hank towards the scrumptious meal in front of him and damn if it isn't tempting to just consume everything in front of him.

“But who the hell are you?”

“My name is Connor, I'm the androー”

“No, I know your fuckin’ name, what the hell are you doing here?”

“I'm the android in your service.”

Hank stares at Connor, scrutinizing every detail. Once again, the android beckons Hank towards the food in front of him. He doesn't seem to be willing to leave until Hank eats it. Hank draws his attention back to the platter in front of him. Sitting there innocently is a warm, fluffy piece of french toast covered in melted butter and drizzled with honey, cinnamon sprinkled to hold everything together. There are two sunny-side up eggs sitting on the side and a freshly brewed mug of coffee to tie in a perfect, simple breakfast. How could he deny the android's request?

 

Connor observes as Hank tentatively inspects the offending piece of toast that lay in front of him. He scrunches his nose and takes a bite, chewing with thought and finally swallowing, smirking with a bit of satisfaction. This was acceptable. A sign he enjoyed Connor's cooking. A positive start, not something that happened on the daily.

It's relieving and distressing that Hank doesn't notice any discrepancies with Connor's lies. The former in the fact that Hank trusts him enough to eat what is given to him. The latter in the fact that he can't remember small details that don't quite fit. Like the fact that it was a Wednesday morning and the fact that Cole had passed away close to four decades ago.

And the fact that he didn't remember Connor's existence in the slightest, yet didn't question his presence any further with the explanation he was given.

“Cole,” Hank calls out. It seems as though, once again, he has forgotten that Cole is 'resting.’ “This is damn good. Didn't know I raised my kid like this.”

“Thanks. Dad.”

**Author's Note:**

> I did minimal research on alzheimer's beforehand, so there are probably a lot of discrepancies and ill-written symptoms of said disease. I apologize.


End file.
